


I Got Love

by geekinthejeep



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekinthejeep/pseuds/geekinthejeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jeff admitted to someone else that he was in love with Annie, and the time he finally worked up the courage to tell her.<br/>Or: Jeff versus the Five and One Trope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abed

**Author's Note:**

> Based off an anonymous prompt, which asked for the study group finding out about Jeff’s feelings for Annie before she does. Title from Where the Island Ends by Ryan Star.

He had a plan, and he thought it was a good one, considering he'd come up with it right there in the cafeteria while the rest of the school celebrated the saving of their school around him. It had been a rough few days at Greendale, what with trying to stop the school from being destroyed by a corrupt sandwich corporation, so step one was to give it a week or two for everything to calm down. He needed the time to try to wrap his mind around the life-changing realization he'd had in all of the chaos, anyway.

Namely, that he was very much in love with Annie Edison, and that he probably had been for a long while; he'd just been too stubborn to acknowledge it. After all, if there was one thing he was good at (and he was good at a lot of things, undoubtedly), it was metaphorically shoving his fingers into his ears, closing his eyes, and trying to avoid the world's attempts to make him a better, happier person until he was forced into accepting the change.

Then, after he had given the proper amount of time for everything to calm down, step two involved continuing to pretend that the life-changing epiphany had never happened because he was too terrified to consider any other option.

He hadn't gotten any farther than that yet, but it seemed like a solid plan.

But, like all of his good plans, Abed happened.

Jeff had barely managed to escape the cafeteria, more than ready to go home and cope with this epiphany as he had all of the others in his adult life -- with a bottle of scotch and twelve straight hours of sleep, because screw teaching tomorrow -- when Abed was calling his name and trotting down the hall after him in that gangly odd way of his.

"Jeff! Jeff, wait!"

And Jeff had two choices: he could either stop and just let Abed say whatever weird meta thing he was going to say, or he could keep walking and the kid would undoubtedly follow him all the way home.

And damn was the second option tempting if it meant he could deal with it over a drink.

Hanging his head and sighing quietly, Jeff came to a stop and spun, barely catching Abed by the arms before he galloped right into him, "Yes, Abed? And don't let this be about the asteroid. I can't deal with that today." Though the world ending would certainly make his life much easier, all things considered.

It unnerves him, the way that Abed just tilts his head to the side and eyes him up and down, "Something's changed. You've changed." he says, with all the confidence of a prophet passing on the divine word of a god.

And, no, Jeff is really not up for dealing with this today.

He holds up a hand, "Abed, can this wait? It - it has been a very, very long day, and I just need a drink and my bed." And it's the disappointed look on Abed's face, still staring at him as if he can see into Jeff's very soul, that forces him to continue, "Look, Abed. A few hours ago I was all set to marry Britta, thinking that my entire life as I knew it was over and pointless. But, now it's not. Greendale is safe, I still have a job that I maybe kind of sort of care about, and I have had an epiphany that I am not ready to deal with right now."

"You're in love with Annie." Abed says, shrugging, "You can say it. I've known since the second season. I'm glad you're finally getting caught up, though. You dating Annie will be the fulfillment of every good romantic comedy trope ever."

"Look, are we done here? I know I'm in love with Annie, and I appreciate what you're trying to do." Jeff reached forward to put a hand on Abed's shoulder, shaking him gently, "I'm just not dealing with it today." Or maybe ever.

Abed was, of course, unfazed, "You should ask her out on a date." he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, "Buy her flowers. Daisies. And then bring her to the new Nicholas Sparks movie. You know, the one where the guy falls in love with the girl but they can't be together for some reason but then they can be and it's supposed to be sad and happy all at once and just ends up being frustrating and confusing? She loves those. And you do, too."

"What?"

"I saw your Netflix history. The Notebook, Jeff? Really?" Abed shakes his head, and Jeff is tempted to point out that the kid who thinks the world is about to end in asteroid fire has no place to be judging him, "And then, at the end of the date, which you have spent crying and laughing over a movie while your hands awkwardly brush each other's in the popcorn bucket, you kiss her. And then you ask her to move in, get married, have three kids, and live happily ever after."

"That's... Oddly specific. And so, so not the point." Jeff wasn't anywhere near drunk enough to be having this conversation, "I'm leaving now. Good job helping us save Greendale, Abed. Now go home. Sleep. Watch Inspector Spacetime. Just - goodnight." And he pats him on the head, turns, and walks out the front doors of Greendale.

"You can't run away from your endgame romance, Jeff!"

Abed's parting yell haunts him in his sleep that night.


	2. Pierce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeff learns the dangers of drinking and dreaming after an epiphany.
> 
> This chapter does make plenty of mention of Pierce's death and related things, and it fought with me the entire way.

His day doesn't get any less weird just because he's at home with a bottle of scotch.

He should have gone to bed hours ago. He's exhausted, physically and emotionally to the point that his entire body aches with it, and he feels like he's been up for days. And maybe he has been; time moved oddly down in the computer lab hidden beneath Greendale. The television in front of him has long since switched over to half-hour infomercials, the voice of the excitable man trying to sell insomniacs a new workout routine a welcome intrusion into the solitude of the apartment.

It's better than going to bed and being stuck in the quiet with only his thoughts for company. And his thoughts are traitorous; wandering without fail back to earlier today in the lab, and Annie.

Alcohol, surprisingly, has not made him any less in love with her, nor has it gotten him any closer to knowing what to do with that. He's spent the last five years denying anything more than a purely physical attraction to her, and can't even remember the last time he'd actually been in love with someone. He's been in relationships, yes, but love didn't have anything to do with that.

The idea of love -- and, particularly, him being in love -- is kind of more than his overwhelmed mind can wrap itself around right now.

And yet, Jeff had never realized quite how lonely it was to live by himself before today; had always thought it was preferable to dealing with other people in such a personal way. Yet, suddenly, with only infomercial actors and a quickly-emptied bottle of scotch for company at three in the morning, he thinks he can understand the appeal. He's been alone for such a long time; would it really be so bad to settle down?

Or maybe that's just the scotch talking.

"I should - I should have another drink. Just to be sure." he concludes slowly.

He pushes himself to his feet with a groan, wonders briefly at why he'd chosen such uncomfortable furniture to begin with, and stumbles his way back to the kitchenette. He digs clumsily through the cupboard, hand wrapping around the first bottle that he comes across and -

' _Jeff! Check this out! Serbian rum. So strong... It's banned there._ Banned _in Serbia, Jeff. Let that concept sink in._ '

\- and he really should have just gone to bed, he decides, staring down at an unopened bottle of rum that he hasn't given much consideration to since he received it all those months back. Months? Years? A different time, for sure; Troy and Abed just moving into their new apartment, all seven of them gathered around the dining room table waiting for pizza and trying not to think about different timelines. Pierce had been so damn proud of the rum he'd found, hadn't had a problem with letting Abed pawn it off on Jeff at the end of the night with the insistence that it reminded him too much of the Darkest Timeline. Jeff, who really was quite invested in the continued workings of his liver, had shoved the bottle in the back of his cupboard when he got home that night, and hadn't thought of it since.

But, hey, Jeff's a procrastinator. And what better way to procrastinate on life-changing realizations of love than by distracting himself with other complicated feelings about dead friends?

The rum, as it turns out, is awful. Not just the slightly bad taste of alcohol that one drinks to get sloppily drunk at the beginning of a night out, but more like the really bad stuff that underage kids drink because that's all the corner store would let them sneak out in their pants. It's not even the kind that starts to taste better a few drinks in.

He keeps hoping it will, anyway. It doesn't.

On the other hand, it's exactly the type of alcohol that finally knocks him out cold.

"Jeffrey Winger. Reduced to a drunken stupor because of a girl. I never thought I would see the day."

He blinks, scrunches his brows, rubs at his eyes, but the blurry figure of Pierce standing halfway through his television set doesn't get any clearer. Or any less weird.

"Am I - am I dreaming?" Jeff really hopes he's dreaming. He'd rather not add 'a ghost made me question my lack of religion' to his already confusing day.

"Dreaming of me? Gay." Pierce says.

"Of course it is." He runs his fingers through his hair and sits forward, "So, lay it on me; which one are you? The Ghost of Christmas I Fucked Up, The Ghost of Christmas I Am Fucking Up, or the Ghost of Christmas I Have Yet to Fuck Up?"

"Hell if I know." Pierce shrugs, and, admittedly, Jeff's attention is kind of stuck on the way he can see the infomercial playing through his body. Then Pierce leans closer, and whispers loudly, "It's still gay."

"Then why are you here?" Jeff asks, sighing. If Shirley could see him right now, she would certainly say that this was the universe's way of punishing him for something. He might even think she was right.

"Hey, you called me." Pierce sits down right where he is with a nimbleness he'd lacked in life, transparent body still halfway through the entertainment center, "I know why you and me never got along, you know. It's because I scared you. You saw this old guy who had no family, his only friends were the people who pitied him at his community college, and he was miserable and weird. And you saw yourself in thirty years. And that scared the shit out of you."

Jeff holds up a hand, "No. All you had to say was 'miserable and weird' and I would have agreed."

"So maybe I'm just here to remind you to take risks while you have the chance! You're in love with Annie? Go for it! Don't wake up ten years down the road, miserable and alone, and realize that you missed your opportunity." Pierce waves his hands around, and the way they disappear and reappear through the televisions is distracting.

"I guess I'm just worried that I've been denying it for so long. Doesn't she deserve better? What if she wakes up one day and realizes how old I am? She could have anyone she wants." Clearly this has to be a dream; he'd never spill his guts to Pierce in reality because the response would undoubtedly be a shot against his sexuality.

"Pshh, no. My fifth wife was thirty years younger than me and we worked out perfectly."

"I thought you divorced." Jeff points out. Or was this the wife that ran away and they never officially divorced? Or the "spiritual marriage" wife?

Pierce shrugs again, unfazed, "It was a very happy two weeks, Jeff."

He's taken to brushing his fingers against (through?) the television, as if he's trying to feel up the scantily clad women on the infomercial while Jeff watches, "Right. This was a good talk, but we're done. I'm going to bed."

"You're already asleep, Jeff. And dreaming of me. You know why, right? It's because you're -"

"- I'm not gay, Pierce. The term you're looking for is metrosexual. There's a difference." Jeff says.

"I was going to say 'in love with Annie.' You two always were my favourites." And Pierce grins wickedly at him, already fading from view, "Don't forget about the sperm I left to you; it's rude to leave it in the freezer like that! Do something good with it in my honor!"

Jeff doesn't wake up until almost noon, his television blaring out a repeat of Price Is Right while he struggles to free his achy body from where he's become wedged into the cushion of his armchair. His head hurts and the taste of that awful rum lingers in his mouth.

"Like hell I'm going to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out and a thank you to liz_marcs for catching the continuity errors I missed!


	3. Shirley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeff makes up for barely talking to Shirley this past year while they try to rebuild a sandwich shop.

If asked about his weekend, Jeff would answer that he spent it doing things that weren't lame; drinking and celebrating and maybe picking up a very sweet, very kinky girl at the bar on Saturday night. He had, after all, spent five long years cultivating a particular reputation amongst the people of Greendale, and that reputation did not include shutting himself away in his apartment all weekend to create lesson plans for next semester of a class he claimed to hate teaching.

But lesson plans, as much as he hated to admit it, were mind-numbingly boring. They were also surprisingly easy to write while drunk, if only he hadn't sworn off drinking for a while after the whole horrific Pierce dream incident; sober, they still provided a great distraction that required his complete focus, leaving him unable to think about other, more complicated things.

Like his feelings.

The downside of lesson plans being boring was that they were, well, boring. And boring left him prey to passive-aggressive guilt trip-inducing text messages from friends who should really know better than to bother him at noon on a Sunday with no advanced warning.

'Jeffrey, come help me in the cafeteria and I will find it in my heart to forgive you for barely speaking to me this year. I'll even cover your lunch!'

And even if he wasn't preyto passive-aggressive guilt trip-inducing text messages, threateningly aggressive text messages that arrived two minutes later were something he found himself falling victim to in a hurry.

'I had an interesting conversation with Abed on Friday. Get your skinnywhite ass down to this cafeteria now or so help me I will go straight to Annie.'

It's shameful how little time it takes before he finds himself standing in the eerily empty Greendale cafeteria, surrounded by the wreckage of a fallen sandwich empire and the aftermath of the party celebrating itsdestruction. He guesses that the shards of plastic crunching under his shoes are the remains of the Subway sign that had hung from the wall just a few days before.

It's so entirely Greendale that he has to smile.

And then Shirley walks in behind him and shoves a can of paint and a brush into his hand, "Oh good! Jeffrey, you're here!" She's all smiles as she pushes him toward the empty shop in the cafeteria with it's atrocious green and orange walls and tattered Subway menus struggling to cling to the walls.

"To be fair, you didn't give me much of a choice here."

"Think of it as earning another feather for your wings in heaven. I'm saving your heathen soulfrom eternal damnation." she says in that sickly sweet way that puts him on edge. Then, raising her eyebrows, she points at the wall, "Now paint. I need this place looking spotless for the start of the summer semester."

"Summer semester?" Jeff kneels down, fighting to open the paint can with his office key. The lock on the door hasn't worked since the Hot Lava game, anyway, "You think they expect me to teach?"

"That implies that you've been teaching to begin with. Oh don't give me that look. I've talked to Annie; 'watch Judge Judy for homework' doesn't count as teaching, Jeff." She stares him down, and all he can do is shrug in response. It seemed like a damn smart assignment to him. Now that was a woman who had mastered the legal system.

"How was I the only one who got roped into this -" He waves his hand at the wall, flecks of red paint flying from his brush, "- anyway? Where is everyone?"

"Abed and Annie had an Inspector Spacetime... Something to go to. And Britta has gone to find herself, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. Sounds like code for a weekend of sin if you ask me." Shirley says, taking a brush to the front of the horrifyingly green counter, "I'd have the kids help me - they'd love it - but it's Andre's week. They're - they're camping, I've heard. Elijah was so excited."

Jeff stops, turning to find her pointedly avoiding his gaze, "I thought things were getting better between you and Andre?"

"I thought so, too. But... I don't know if I want things to get better. It would be great for the boys, but the marriage has fallen apart twice now. Love isn't supposed to be like that." Shirley says, and Jeff almost wishes she would go back to that sickly-sweet tone all of a sudden.

"What happened to 'love is patient, love is kind' and all of that bible crap?"

"The Bible isn’t crap, Jeffrey, and you’d know that if you worshiped anything besides the almighty mirror!" she chastises, "Love is all of those things. It's also blind and stupid and confused. It can hurt you to your very soul." She eyes him then, corners of her lips quirking upward, "It can also be the most amazing thing in your life, if you let it."

"Ugh. Abed told you?" He waits for her nod, "Snitch. Yes, okay? I might be a little in love with Annie, and I might have been a little in love with her for a very long time. Happy?"

"Very. Now what are you going to do about it?" Shirley points back at the wall, and Jeff can only raise his hands in defeat and return to his painting.

It's satisfying, watching the orange and green slowly disappear behind the dark red paint he's come to associate with Shirley's Sandwiches, "Well, drinking didn't work. That just caused me to hallucinate about Pierce, so that plan's out."

"Have you thought about just asking her out? That girl has been in love with you for years now."

"I just don't do relationships, Shirley. They always end badly, or I think proposing to a girl I lusted over years ago is a good idea just because my life is falling apart around me. I'm not meant to be in a relationship." he rambles, running a hand through his hair. It takes him a moment, but he cringes when he feels the distinctive slide of paint down the side of his head.

She's clearly trying not to grin at him, shoulders shaking in silent laughter as she says, "But maybe you're meant to be with Annie. It doesn't - It doesn't have to be difficult, Jeff. You like each other; isn't that what matters? Ask her out on a date. And when that date goes well, you ask her out on another date. And then you get married and do the 2.5 kids and a two-story house and a Labradoodle thing, all in the proper order like the good lord commanded."

"I don't think the Bible talks about white picket fences and designer mutts, Shirley." he says, grinning. But, well, maybe she's right? Who exactly said that being in love with Annie had to be difficult? Sure, he's messed up plenty of relationships in the past, but those weren't Annie, and maybe that was the difference. Liking Annie, and being liked in return, hadn't made his life anything but fun and exciting (and challenging) these last few years; being in a relationship didn't have to suddenly make what they had terrifying.

"Shut up and paint, heathen." She flicks her brush at him, smiling wickedly as blue paint drips down the front of his designer shirt.


	4. Dean Pelton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeff really doesn't know what a summer semester is, and the Dean really needs to not with the heart-to-heart talks.

He elbows the door open, finding some small amount of joy in the dull thud as it collides with the cheap drywall of his office, a hole long since cracked into the old plaster where the handle hits over years of suffering under previous professors' frustrations and tempter tantrums. The boxes in his arms are dropped unceremoniously to the floor right there as Jeff hurries to get the door closed behind him before anyone has any indication that he's even here. He'd opted to park his car way back in the furthest lot just in the hopes that it might keep him from being noticed.

He doesn't consider it antisocial so much as just downright self-preservation. Getting noticed means being asked to do something, and being asked to do something means having to put in an amount of effort that became beyond his capabilities the moment the semester ended at four PM last Friday. He's a teacher: the pay is shit, the hours are awful, and the school is the armpit of the American education system, but he is damn well going to enjoy the whole 'summer vacation' deal.

He's not sure who he's even avoiding. The school is practically empty now that the semester's over. Annie is still on her Inspector Spacetime pilgrimage with Abed.

He's not avoiding talking about his feelings or anything. That's for damn sure.

Sighing, he sits down at his computer chair and drags a box over to him with his foot. He eyes the first drawer for a moment, packed to the brim with pens and pencils and stacks of unused sticky notes, then tugs the entire thing away from the desk to dump right into the box with a shrug.

"Dean-dong!"

Jeff yelps, the chair rolling out from under him as the office door slams back against the wall again and the Dean walks in, a stack of papers tucked under his arms, "Jeffrey! Oh, Jeffrey! I come bearing gifts!" And, with Jeff peering over the edge of the desk from the floor, he waves the papers around, sending a few sheets flying to the corners of the room (and knocking over one of Hickey's creepy duck statues -- Jeff hopes beyond hope that the thing is broken), "It's... Your... Paycheck! ...And your contract to sign that waives all of your rights to vacation days and free access to the school athletic cent -" He stops suddenly, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, "- Why, Jeffrey. Why are you packing up your office? What about summer semester?"

"What the hell is a summer semester?!" Jeff demands, scrambling to his feet, "My contract said nothing about a summer semester!"

"No, I'm pretty sure it did."

He levels a look at the Dean, "I'm the law teacher. I read the entire contract. It said nothing about a summer semester."

"Well, if you're not teaching this summer, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. I am doing nothing. And I'm going to do so well at doing nothing that it'll make my deadbeat father proud of me." Jeff answers, transferring the books on his desk to the box with more care, "And I'm packing up my office because these books are worth more than I get paid in an entire year, and, knowing this school, someone would steal them to use the paper for joints."

The Dean leans against the edge of the desk, " _Jeffrey._ "

" _What_? Don't look at me like that. You know it's true. That's kind of the whole reason why the biology department had to use Christian home school textbooks this year!" He chuckles to himself, setting the box on the floor. Very few things would likely ever bring him as much joy as watching the first year biology professor (the school's eighth in as many years) having a meltdown in the teacher's lounge that first day, yelling something about how dinosaur bones were " _not the devil's way of testing us!_ " and " _the Bible never says it's an apple! I don't understand!_ " and, really, the only way that day could have been any better is if they'd thrown Shirley into the mix.

"No. _That_ is not my fault." the Dean says, but raises his hands placatingly, "I meant ' _Jeffrey_ ' as in: _Jeffrey_ , are you running away from your problems _again_?"

He picks up the framed photograph of the study group from his desk, brushing the dust from it and pointedly avoiding the Dean's gaze, "Of course not. I don't avoid my problems. I try not to do anything that starts problems in the first place." he says, setting the picture in the box.

Jeff reaches for the next frame on his desk, but the Dean gets there first, tutting at him and turning it over and over in his hands, "I thought we were past this whole lying thing, Jeffrey. I know you. Intimately."

"No you don't." He makes a grab for the frame, growling when the Dean squirms out of his reach.

"I have a deep connection with you." the Dean continues, as if he hasn't heard Jeff at all while his fingers trace over the words "DEBATE TEAM CHAMPS!" on the framed newspaper clipping.

"You _really_ don't." Jeff interrupts again.

"And I know what happened down in that computer lab." He blinks slowly, eyeing Jeff over the rim of his glasses, "Let's cut the crap, Jeffrey. We all know it wasn't the amazing magical power of friendship that opened that door. And, as much as I hate to admit this, I don't think it was your  love for me, either."

Jeff leans down, searching in the bottom desk drawer. He definitely left a bottle of vodka down here somewhere, he knows it. And, on the bright side, it's not scotch or rum, "How do you know it wasn't my deep, unabashed love for Abed?" he asks, slamming a glass down on the desk and pouring himself a generous helping that he downs in a single go.

"Because I know it was your deep, unabashed love for Annie. And drinking on the job is so against this school's rules." the Dean says, prying the vodka from Jeff's hands and taking a swig, "So is dating your students."

"I'm not - I'm not _dating_ Annie!" Jeff splutters, wincing as he watches his vodka quickly disappear. He'd paid good money for that bottle; had gone to a liquor store for it and everything.

The Dean waves the bottle dismissively, " _Yet._ " And Jeff sighs, leaning back as Dean Pelton climbs right onto his desk, reclining over his remaining books, "You should get on that. You've heard Abed's whole 'giant asteroid destroying the Earth' theory, right? That boy is special. I think maybe he's on to something."

"Special? Dean, _come on_. He's -"

"- Shhh. As I was saying, you should really hurry up and ask her out. These cutesy capers you two keep having are adorable, but they're getting kind of old. Move on with it already!" he rambles, drops of vodka splashing from the bottle and onto the desk as he waves it around, "It's been five years of dancing around and tension and I swear it's starting to make the freshman sexually frustrated. Just, you know, be discreet about it? School rules and all. No faculty-student relationships."

"Look. I just realized that I might actually have some serious, non-friendship feelings for my friend. And she's my student. And she's _young_." Jeff says, sealing the last of the boxes with packing tape. His entire career at Greendale, packed away into four cardboard boxes. It's almost laughable. Almost. It's still more than he ever bothered to move into his office at the law firm.

"Details, Jeffrey. Details. The heart wants what the heart wants. And, in your case, the heart wants a cutesy, borderline-forbidden relationship with Annie." the Dean responds, shrugging. He's quiet for a moment, then his eyes light up suddenly and he gasps, "I know! I could help you pick out an outfit! I've got this great 'Ryan Gosling in The Notebook' outfit that would look positively scrumptious on you!"

Rolling his eyes, Jeff pulls the vodka bottle from Dean Pelton's hands and exchanges it for a heavy cardboard box, "No outfits."

"Ooh and I have this lovely 'Rachel McAdams in The Notebook' dress, too. Not too worn, I promise. You think we could get Annie..." The Dean's voice trails after down the hallway as he leads his way back to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the delay in this chapter. I ran into some struggles writing it, and life has gotten very crazy these last few weeks. I hope it was worth the wait!


	5. Britta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britta left to find herself. She needs to find herself again.
> 
> Jeff needs to find a new not-psychologist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot apologize enough for the delay in getting this chapter out. Real life and a full-time teaching job have kept me otherwise occupied, but I said I was going to finish this before season 6, and I'm going to.
> 
> Shout out to Wongdude on Tumblr for the constant encouragement and beta'ing!

He meets up with Britta at The Ballroom.

She's the one who chooses the bar, says something about her psychology degree and the importance of having serious conversations in a neutral location, and on Jeff's long list of current life problems, arguing with Britta about her total lack of an actual psychology degree ranks low in his priorities. If she wants to have this conversation at some dive of a bar with a pretentious name and pictures of Shirley hanging up everywhere, it's just not worth the effort to debate with her.

On the other hand, the decision to talk at all is, at this point, something of an obligation.

He's not even entirely sure why; just knows that the way they left things that day in the cafeteria shouldn't be allowed to continue to hang between them in the future. They need to clear the air, so to speak. If nothing else, they owe it to their friends to patch things up. Or, at least, figure out where exactly it is that they stand because, as it turns out, ' _We were engaged for a day and neither of us are at all heartbroken about ending it_ ' is a very weird, uncomfortable relationship to have with a person.

Britta is already there by the time he arrives, settled into a corner table nursing her drink - something pretentious and foreign, he's sure. It's quiet in the bar; all of the college students have long since cleared out of the city for the summer, leaving the place with the bartender and a handful of regulars in varying stages of drunk.

The chair scrapes loudly back across the hardwood floor as he pulls it away from the table, and Britta looks up at him as he slides into his seat, "What? Didn't feel like ordering me a drink?" he asks, flagging down the server.

She snorts derisively, taking a swig from her drink, "Don't push it, Winger. This isn't a date." she says, pointing the neck of her bottle at him. 

"Like you'd buy me a drink even if it were a date." he answers, but it has no real heat to it. The conversation is comfortable, teasing, brought about by five years of blatant not-dating, "It's about time someone heard from you, anyway. Where have you been?" he asks.

"Just rolling in from Denver. There was a big protest. I wanted to be in the middle of it. You know, the usual." she says, shrugging and taking a long drag from her beer.

"What were we protesting this time? Pot laws or whale hunting?"

She makes a face at him, "Neither." She stares back at him as he quirks an eyebrow at her, then rolls her eyes, sighing, as she waves her empty bottle at the bartender, "Pot laws. But Jeff, not everyone has the same freedoms that we do here."

“You’re right. They probably also get stuff done because they’re not all stoned.” he says. It’s easier, he thinks, to slip into the dynamic that he knows well after five years than to acknowledge the metaphorical elephant looming over the both of them - namely, their clusterfuck of a non-romantic relationship.

She takes pity on him, then, watching him swirl the contents of his whiskey glass knowingly, “I’m leaving again, you know. Soon. Like, within the next few days.”

“Another pot rights protest?” he asks, finally bringing the glass to his mouth and downing half of the drink in one go.

“Shut up.” She kicks him under the table, and the entire thing sways precariously on its cheap, uneven legs, “No. I don’t know. Wherever life takes me. I think - I think it’s going to be a big summer, and I want to be there. In the middle of it. That’s where I belong - doing something meaningful.”

“...This isn’t going to be another peyote trip, is it?” he asks, all mock-sincerity and concern.

She rolls her eyes, fiddling absentmindedly with the napkin half-stuck to the table in front of her. It takes her a moment to work up to whatever she clearly wants to say, then, “Maybe making the mistake of almost marrying you was my sign. I need to find myself.”

“This _is_ another peyote trip.”

“No, Jeff, this is a _human rights_ trip.” Britta corrects, tapping her finger emphatically against the table, “And I’m serious. This was my wake up call.I think we both know that it was yours, too.”

He grunts, glaring at his drink, “And I think you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar."

“Plausible deniability, Britta.” He’s a lawyer; he can out-argue the high school dropout going into her sixth year of a four-year degree.

“Also, Shirley talks a lot. _A lot_.” She leans back in her chair, pulling that “I’m a psych major” attitude around her like a cloak that Jeff had quickly learned to dread, “I’m not angry. I think it’s good - healthy - that you’re finally confronting your deeply repressed emotional needs.”

“Still not a psychologist, Britta.” he reminds her.

“Look, Jeff. I love you. But not like that. We’ve never loved each other like that. As friends, maybe. But nothing more. Most of the time I find you pretty gross. I think I’d probably murder you if I ever had to live with you - and I don’t need those kinds of charges on my record.” She twists her bottle between her fingers, the scrape of glass against the wooden table irrationally grating to him, “We never would have worked out.”

“And I find you obnoxious most of the time, but you don’t hear me saying it to your face.” he responds, but it lacks any real bite, “I guess - I guess I’ve always just seen you as a constant. That seemed close enough to love to me.”

“And I’ve always thought of you as my safety net if no one else was stupid enough to marry me. Still not love.” She shrugs, finishing her drink and slamming the empty bottle down on the table, “We’re not - not good for each other like that, Jeff. And we’ve both known that for a while. Besides, you’ve liked someone for years and just haven’t let yourself realize it until recently. I can’t compete with that. You don’t have to pretend to spare my feelings.”

“What…?”

She stands, patting him on the shoulder as she drops a couple of bills onto the table, “You’ll manage. Maybe even act on it at some point in the next decade. Tell Annie I said ‘hi.’”

He stares after her, searching for the words. When he finds them, they’re loud enough that the nearby tables turn to stare at him in varying degrees of amusement and annoyance, “You should call Troy - see if he’s going to be anywhere near this ‘civil rights trip’ of yours. He’d probably like hearing from you.” Jeff suggests.

She waves her fingers at him over her shoulder, and the snap of the door closing behind her sounds like the start of something new.


	6. And Annie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...And the time he finally worked up he courage to tell her. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal gratitude to wongdude on Tumblr for beta'ing and putting up with my mess, and to everyone who stuck with this story to the end! I hope it's ending you were hoping for!

He leaves his apartment that afternoon wearing his best suit, a bouquet from the florist Shirley had strongly recommended, his Lexus newly cleaned and polished, and a false bravado that he had perfected over his years at Greendale -

\- and lasts him only about halfway across town. Because it’s all wrong. Jeff Winger, former greatest-defense-lawyer-ever and in denial current community college law professor, has no idea what he’s doing. And no idea how to fix it now.

He should back out now. Turn his car around, go home, regroup, and try again some other time. Or never. Never would work, too. Because _this_? This is insane. This is going against everything he’s ever known about himself. Jeff Winger was the type of guy who made vows to himself as a teenager to never fall in love because he’s seen how damn awful it can be; who attempted to marry a woman he didn’t love three times over the course of five years because she was a “constant” in his life and that’s close enough, right? Jeff Winger was the one who crammed his fingers into his ears and made unintelligible noises until reality shut the hell up about _love_.

But. Maybe it’s doing exactly the right type of thing Annie always seems to expect of him; getting him to join a stupid debate team, help Pierce bond with his (swindling) stepdaughter, that ridiculous, conspiracy theory-laced lesson on cheating, the mess of a student president race, the time they bonded during the Inspector Spacetime convention, and teaching him how to be a better teacher, and -

\- and the time she had agreed to let him go: the time she had put his idiotic choices over her own desires because, down to her core, she was and always would be a better person than he could ever hope to be. Because she saw a good person in him, too.

But more than that, she made him _want_ to be that good person she saw in him.

The suit jacket and his tie get removed and shoved unceremoniously under the backseat. The bouquet gets dumped into a trashcan on the street save for a single flower, and his bravado is nowhere to be found as he climbs the steps up to the apartment to rap his knuckles against the door.

He feels ridiculous, standing there in his casually rumpled button-down and slacks, staring at the peeling paint of the wall with a single white daisy clutched near to snapping in his hands and absolutely no plan whatsoever beyond waiting for someone to answer the door.

He’s just about to knock again when the door opens, and Annie is right there, looking adorably summer-casual and more than a little baffled to find him standing outside of her apartment, “...Jeff? Did you forget something else at the school? Because I’m not breaking in to your office again. Last time I ruined a skirt. And it was _new_ , Jeff.” she tells him.

He shakes his head, “No. No, it’s, uh, it’s something else this time.” He ignores her exasperated look, glancing past her into the apartment to find Abed watching the proceedings with rapt attention, “Abed? Scram.” he suggests pointedly.

“Gotcha. Cool cool cool.” Abed responds, pointing a finger knowingly at Jeff as he dumps his bowl of noodles into the sink. He waggles his eyebrows at them as he passes, taking off down the hall in a gangly run.

Annie leans out of the doorway to watch his journey down the hall, brows furrowing as she turns her attention back to Jeff, “Okay, spill. Why are you here this time? Because if it’s to ask for another favor, I’m sorry, but your payback balance is way overdue.”

“Do you really think that little of me?” he asks. She opens her mouth, but he’s shaking his head as he hurries to cut her off, “No, never mind. Don’t answer that. Not the point. Look, I’m not very good at speeches -”

Annie huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes, “Bull, Jeff.”

“- Okay. I’m great at speeches.” he concedes with a nod, “Annie, this is long overdue - yes, I know, just like all of the favors I owe you - but, I’ve realized something over the last few weeks. I’m an idiot. A ruggedly handsome idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. Because I’ve owed you this for a while. Remember, back at the end of freshman year? Slater was my New Year’s resolutions, and Britta was who I was after New Year’s. But you’re… You’re all of that. You make me feel like following those resolutions the whole year through. Not just who I want to be, but who I can be. I can be a good person, because you think I can be.” And Jeff Winger does not babble, but he’s tripping over his words and the bare bones of a plan he’d had going into this have flown right out the window along with his coherency.

And Annie - Annie just leans against the door frame as she stares up at him and lets him ramble.

Which, Jeff supposes, she’s earned a hundred times over by now for how many times she’d watched him sidestep this exact conversation right here, “And it took me until we were all trapped in that basement with the stupid love-detecting computer to realize it. I opened that door because of you, Annie.” he finishes, finally stopping to catch his breath.

She tilts her head, temple resting against the frame, and a smile starts to tug knowingly at the corners of her mouth.

“Well? Do you… Want to say something? An ‘I told you so,’ maybe?” he prompts, cringing as he holds the now thoroughly mangled daisy out to her.

She pushes herself away from the doorframe, eyes him up and down consideringly for what feels like a lifetime, then plucks the daisy from his fingers and stands up on her tiptoes to press a quick peck to his cheek, “You want to come in? I think Abed left some buttered noodles.” She tilts her head back toward the apartment in invitation.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. Sounds… Like a date.” he murmurs, stepping past her and over the threshold.

She rolls her eyes, “You better take me somewhere nicer than my apartment for our first date, Jeff. Now shut up and come eat buttered noodles with me.”

But, he can see, she’s biting her lip as she turns away, trying to contain a giddy squeal that has him grinning as he follows her.


End file.
